by Sean Black
‘Same as you.’
‘This guy bothering you?’ said someone, tapping Lock’s shoulder for emphasis.
Lock half turned to see the guy in the brown tofu jacket. He was tall, but he struggled to be imposing. Lock ignored him.
He tapped again. Harder this time. ‘Why don’t you leave her alone?’
‘Don, it’s OK. This is Ryan Lock – you know, the guy who saved me.’
Don looked awkward and studied the ground. ‘Guess I owe you a thank you.’
As apologies went it settled somewhere on the wrong side of grudging.
‘Sure you would have done the same,’ Lock said.
‘Yeah, I would have.’
‘So, what do you know about Josh Hulme?’
Don blinked at Lock’s sudden shift of direction. ‘I know what his father does. You live by the sword, you—’
Lock moved in quickly on Don, making sure he had eye contact and didn’t break it. ‘We’re talking about a young boy here. I’d appreciate it if you gave my question some proper consideration.’
Janice edged her chair up between the two men. ‘There’s no need for this. Especially not here. And not today.’
‘Under normal circumstances, I’d agree. But as long as Josh Hulme’s missing, I’d argue that normal rules no longer apply. Especially as I think you, and your buddies, might know where he is.’ Lock grabbed Don’s wrist and twisted, just enough to make it interesting. ‘Now, Don, maybe we could start with your full name.’
No one moved from either of the two blacked-out SUVs, although Lock would have bet the farm that they had shotgun mikes catching every word of the exchange. Their decision not to intervene didn’t surprise him, even though he’d just committed assault. Government agencies were big on outsourcing these days and Lock would do as well as any Syrian jailer with a cattle prod and some time on his hands. Plus he wasn’t quite as restricted by the niceties.
‘Why the hell should I tell you anything? You’re not a cop.’
‘That’s right, Don, I’m not. Which means I’m not bound by proper procedure.’
Don glared at Lock, his eyes full of hatred.
‘Stop it!’ shouted Janice. ‘We’ve just buried our parents!’
Lock dropped Don’s wrist. ‘What do you mean “we”?’
‘Don’s my kid brother.’
Twenty-four
Lock wondered how much of an extremist you had to be to fill the role of the Stokes family black sheep. It did kind of explain some of the young man’s over-righteous anger, though. He almost regretted adding injury to insult by hurting Don’s wrist. Then he thought of Josh Hulme, and his momentary feeling of sympathy ebbed away, as quickly as it had appeared.
Don worried at his wrist. ‘Man, I could use a drink.’
The way he said it, Lock assumed he wasn’t talking about a lactose-free protein shake. Lock had always assumed the animal rights crowd weren’t much for liquor. Lentil casseroles, for definite. Cheap whisky, not so much.
‘There’s a place about five blocks from here. I can give you a ride,’ he offered.
Don seemed unsure.
‘He’s OK,’ said Janice.
Don still said nothing. Lock didn’t want to push it, but this was a great opportunity. Get a few drinks in him and who knew what Don Stokes would cough up?
‘Listen, I shouldn’t have laid my hands on you back there, man. I’m sorry.’
Don almost managed a smile. ‘Forget it, you saved my sister’s life.’
‘We good?’ asked Lock, offering a hand.
Don shook with his left. ‘I’m usually right-handed, but some asshole almost broke it.’
In the language of men, that was a yes. The tension between them lifted.
Lock helped Janice back down the slope. It had never occurred to him before, but if getting a wheelchair up a slope was an effort, getting it back down was an adventure. At the bottom, he could see Ty fully engaged in the seemingly impossible task of trying to make it look like he had nothing to do with Lock’s Toyota while standing right next to it.
Lock made the introductions. Once those were out of the way, Lock, Ty and Don helped Janice into the car and then spent the next ten minutes collapsing the wheelchair and trying to load it into the trunk.
‘Shoulda brought one of the Yukons,’ Ty observed helpfully as they set off, the FBI surveillance vehicle slotting in behind them.
Lock drove, Janice next to him in the passenger seat, giving Ty and Don a chance to buddy up in the back.
‘You must really like animals, huh?’ said Ty.
‘Guess I do.’
‘I had a dog once,’ Ty continued, earning a please don’t go there glance from Lock in the rear-view. ‘Man, I loved that dog.’
‘That the one who died at a ripe old age?’ Lock asked, pressing down on the gas, eager to get to the bar.
‘Nah, I’m thinking of a different one. Y’know, the pit bull. I’m sure I told you this story, right?’
‘Which is why I don’t need to hear it again.’
Lock glanced in the mirror. The JTTF SUV was still behind them, keeping the regulation half-block distance.
Ty smiled at Don. ‘Lock gets real emotional when I tell it. It was kind of an Old Shep type of situation.’
‘Well, here we are,’ interrupted Lock, turning so hard into the bar’s parking lot that Ty and Don were thrown around on the back seat.
Having helped Don wrestle the wheelchair from the truck, Lock left him to reassemble it. Then he pulled Ty out of earshot. ‘What are you doing, Tyrone? These people love animals more than they do people and you’re gonna tell him about shooting your dog?’
Ty glanced over at Don. ‘Hey, if they think I’m cold enough to shoot my own dog, maybe it’ll get them thinking about what might happen to them if they don’t cough up that kid.’
Twenty-five
Josh woke to the sound of boots in the corridor outside. He tensed as they stopped outside the door. Backing up, he found the wall. The camera whirred, its Cyclops eye tracking his movement. His breathing quickened. He glanced across to the album which lay like an accusation on the dresser.
The door began to open. Josh closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Natalya was standing in the doorway.
But how? Natalya was dead. Josh was sure she was. OK, he’d closed his eyes after the man had raised the gun. But he’d heard the shot. Followed by the splash. There had been blood at the far end of the boat.
Natalya smiled at him. ‘It’s OK, Josh. You can go home now.’
Josh stayed where he was. ‘How can I believe you after what you did?’
‘Don’t you want to go home, Josh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then come with me.’
Natalya held out her hand. Josh took a step towards her, stretched out his. Almost there. A matter of inches between fingertips.
Then a loud bang as the door closed on both of them, and Natalya evaporated from view.
Josh sat bolt upright. His back was sore. The flap in the door was open. A tray was pushed through it. Breakfast.
He sank back down on to the bed, listening to the sound of the boots, this time retreating. He got to his feet and rushed the door, pounding against it with his fists. ‘Let me go! Let me out of here!’ The boots faded to silence.
He looked down at the tray. Dry cereal. Toast. OJ. He was ravenous. He ate the cereal with his hands, stuffing it into his mouth, oblivious to the camera. His mouth began to dry and he gulped down the juice. It tasted like the stuff that you made up yourself at home. Gritty. Horrible.
Then he spotted the piece of paper, folded under the plastic cereal bowl. He pulled it out and unfolded it, bracing himself for something horrible like the images in the album. But it was only a note. He sipped at the orange juice as he read it.
Josh –
Keep doing as you’re told and you can go back to your family soon.
Lone Wolf
Josh read it slowly, making sure he unde
rstood every word.
Lone Wolf. He was sure he’d heard that name before. Maybe it was something to do with the phone calls they’d had at home. He would pick up the phone and no one would speak. He was sure it was something to do with his father’s work for the company. Josh’d been so happy when his father had told him that he was leaving. And then this happened.
He looked again at the note, took another sip of juice. It said nothing about what would happen if the demands were not met. If it was aimed at reassuring him, it was having the opposite effect. First chance he had, he planned on getting out of this place.
He sat back down on the bed. His body felt heavy, especially his legs. The horror of Natalya’s visit was receding. He felt safe again somehow.
Sinking back down on to the bed, he closed his eyes. Within a few seconds he was asleep again.
Twenty-six
Lock, Janice and Don grabbed a table near the rear of the bar next to an old Wurlitzer jukebox. Ty stayed outside, chasing up a Yukon to take Janice and Don home. It would take twenty minutes to get there, which gave Lock just about enough time.
The bar smelled of stale beer and old men’s farts – an unfortunate side-effect of the state’s smoking ban. Lunchtime trade was sparse, but the barflies seemed to compensate for their lack of numbers by drinking industrial quantities of beer and whisky chasers.
Predictably, Lock took the chair facing the door and studied Don as he got their drinks at the bar. If he was directly involved in Josh’s disappearance he was doing a very good job of covering it. Even the more disengaged criminals Lock had encountered in his previous professional incarnation had given away something, some tiny ‘tell’, as poker players liked to call it. Nor had he gone out of his way to convince Lock of his innocence – something else the guilty were fond of doing when faced with an authority figure bearing down on them with awkward questions.
When everyone was properly settled, Lock raised his glass – Coke in his case. ‘What should we drink to?’
In the present company, a thornier topic was hard to imagine.
‘How about survival?’ offered Janice.
‘And those who didn’t make it,’ Don added.
Lock didn’t have a problem with reflecting on either of those. They clinked glasses, earning a few watery-eyed glances from the men at the bar. Lock found himself studying Janice’s face as she sank her bourbon in one and stared into the bottom of the glass as if some secret might be engraved there. He wondered how much her current composure was a result of having had to face her own death.
‘What about those we can still save?’ Lock asked, directing the question to Don.
‘What I said back there, about the kid.’
‘Emotions are running high on both sides right now.’
‘There’s no way anyone involved with us would do something like this.’
‘So who would?’
‘How would we know?’
‘So who’s Lone Wolf?’
Janice and Don shared a blank look. But not before both of them had glanced down at the table for a split second. It was the first false note Lock had detected.
‘Gimme a break.’ Lock had dropped his voice so it was barely discernible. ‘Who’s Lone Wolf?’
He uncrumpled the copy of the email he’d printed from Richard Hulme’s computer and spread it out flat on the table.
Another glance between the siblings.
‘We don’t know who you’re talking about,’ Don said.
Lock slammed his glass down on to the table with enough force to get the whole bar’s attention. ‘Stop lying to me or, so help me God, I really will do you some damage this time.’
Don drained his glass of beer. ‘It’s not any one person. I mean, it’s like Spartacus or something. People in the movement adopt the name.’
‘When they want to make a death threat?’ Lock asked.
‘When they want to make a stand,’ Don said.
‘Oh for God’s sake, Don, stop this,’ Janice said. She turned her face so she was looking directly at Lock. ‘Lone Wolf is a man called Cody Parker. He was the one who had the idea of digging up that old lady and dumping her in Times Square.’
‘And he took Josh Hulme?’
Don was on his feet. ‘There’s no way, man, no way Cody would do something like this.’
Lock stared at him. ‘And how would you know?’
Don looked away, answering Lock’s question for him.
Lock flipped back to Janice. ‘What do you think?’
‘Don’s right. He wouldn’t have done something like this.’
‘OK, then let’s go ask him.’
Don threw his head back and laughed. ‘And how are you going to do that? The government’s been looking for him for years and they’ve never even got close.’
Lock thought it over for a moment before speaking again. ‘Have you got a quarter?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘For the jukebox.’
Don looked at Lock like he was nuts, but dug out a handful of quarters and handed them over.
‘Ladies’ choice. Any preferences?’ he asked Janice.
She shrugged, as confused as her brother.
Lock took the coins and pumped them into the Wurlitzer. He selected something by a band with the word ‘death’ in its name. Then he crossed back to the bar and slapped a hundred dollars down on the counter. ‘Drinks are on me, but I need you to max the volume.’
Lock sat back down next to Don and Janice as the first few bars of distorted guitar and pounding drums drowned out everything else. He leaned in closer so that his face was inches from theirs. ‘All that concerns me right now is the safe return of Josh Hulme to his family. Just so you’re both clear on my personal position, I don’t really give a shit about furry little bunnies having shampoo poured into their eyes, and presently I don’t give much of a shit about Meditech either. So I’m going to give you both a choice. It’s entirely non-negotiable, and you have until this song ends to make your decision. With what you’ve already told me I can hand this to the FBI and you’ll both face conspiracy charges. Janice, you’ll die in a correctional facility, probably before you reach trial. Don, with the way child abduction’s viewed by the courts, not to mention guards and inmates, so might you. In fact, I’ll take the stand to maximize the chances of that happening. That’s option one.’
The song was building, the lead guitarist working his way down the fretboard to find notes discernible only to dolphins. At the bar, a shoving match had broken out between two guys over who was to be served next. A glass smashed on the floor.
‘What’s our other option?’ Janice asked.
‘You take me to Cody Parker.’
Don rocked back in his chair. ‘What happened to the dog?’
The question threw Lock. ‘What dog?’
‘Your friend in the car. His dog.’
‘The dog attacked Tyrone’s cousin, and, see, Ty’s real sentimental when it comes to children,’ Lock said, reaching over and grabbing Don’s sore wrist. ‘More sentimental than he is about animals. So you want to know what happened to that dog he loved so much? He shot it dead. And if you dick us around, I’d say there’s a good chance he’ll do the same to you.’
Twenty-seven
‘I bet you follow round comedians shouting out the punchlines before they can get to them,’ Ty said, tossing Lock his keys.
‘Hey, it worked. They’re gonna help us out.’
Ty stared at Don, who was busy getting his sister back into Lock’s Toyota. ‘They’d better,’ he said, clambering up into the cab of the Yukon.
‘You know what to do, right?’ Lock asked him.
‘Roger that.’
As Ty pulled out of the bar’s parking lot, Lock walked back to see if Don needed any help.
He had to admit, they made for one hell of a strange-looking search party: a girl in a wheelchair with a left leg prone to random spasms, a young man pushing her with one hand while massaging his wrist with t
he other, a guy with a patchy buzz cut intersected by a nearly new six-inch scar, and a six foot four African American with no hair and a lot of tattoos.
As Lock pulled his car out of the lot, the black SUV holding the JTTF surveillance team was waiting for them. To ensure that Janice and Don Stokes’ choice of option two didn’t bleed into option one, his first task was to lose the tail. Seeing as the Royal Military Police had been the branch that taught the rest of the British military defensive and, when the need arose, offensive driving techniques, the prospect didn’t overly worry him.
His phone chirped. He flipped it open, driving with one hand.
‘Hey, cowboy.’
‘Carrie?’
‘How many other hot blondes who just scored a thirty-five share of the audience do you have calling you?’
‘Thirty-five’s good?’
‘Ten years ago it was good. These days it’s spectacular.’
‘Should Katie Couric be worried?’
‘Peeing in her pants.’
‘Listen, can you do some digging for me? But I need an embargo on it.’
The request for an embargo was met by silence.
‘Carrie?’
‘Yeah, OK. What is it?’
‘The lowdown on a gentleman by the name of Cody Parker.’
‘You got it.’
‘Thanks,’ Lock said, ending the call.
Turning to Don, he asked a question he already knew the answer to: ‘So, where first?’
Don gave him an address. It wasn’t the one he had given him a few moments earlier.
Don glanced over his shoulder at the JTTF SUV. ‘Won’t they be able to hear us?’
‘Nah, they’re too far back,’ Lock lied, punching on the radio and turning up the volume as an apparent afterthought.
In the back of the black SUV, the comms member of the three-man surveillance team smiled broadly. ‘We got an address.’
The driver glanced back at him. ‘For what?’ he asked.
‘Find out when we get there, I guess. You might as well ease back. This is gonna be easy.’
Don glanced nervously over his shoulder as they stopped at a light.